


The Important Things

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Lieutenant Craig Garrison might BE 'smarter than the average bear', might be considered somewhat of an expert at prioritizing the never-ending aspects of his current life, but sometimes even HE needs a reminder as to what is TRULY important.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Important Things

The important things - some days Lieutenant Craig Garrison thought it seemed like EVERYTHING he came into contact with was important, urgent. Like EVERYTHING needed to be accomplished, immediately, and that he ws the only one who COULD accomplish any of those never-ending 'everythings'. Whether it was the missions or the training, the annotating of maps or the translations - the keeping up with the reports and rumors, the more public news, or the items only whispered about among the teams - even the more political and social interactions 'suggested' by HQ, it was ALL important. 

Well, that was fine, of course. But what Garrison found himself running afoul of more and more often was - where did that leave the things NOT directly connected to the war or the fighting or the internal skirmishes and manoeuverings of HQ and the politicos? Or was that even a valid consideration in wartime? 

Take today, for example.

He'd been checking his watch, waiting, eagerly looking forward to when he could leave his desk and his duties, looking forward to this evening of freedom. Well, he had been, all the way up until he got that phone call. 

Now his destination was the same as before, the Cottage, but he found it disheartening that his stay would be much shorter than originally planned. In fact, he was only stopping in to say he WASN'T spending the evening like planned. No one was going to be thrilled about that; frankly, he wasn't all that thrilled about it either. Meghada had promised dinner, and he always looked forward to a meal at her table, but aside from that, he had been looking forward to some shared time, some shared warmth with the two waiting for him there, some time being just 'Craig', not 'Lieutenant Craig Garrison'.

He arrived to an open kitchen door and a scurry of activity. Goniff was putting together a thermos of coffee and tucking a hastily-made sandwich into a small sack. Meghada was rummaging through the safe to grab a handful of cash, counting it out, then stuffing it into a plain envelope, then into her pocket. Not ten minutes later, she left with a hurried kiss for both of them, last minute instructions for the dinner on her lips, interspersed with curses for the young man with more brass than brains waiting to be retrieved from some thieves' den in one of the worse sections of London's East End. 

She'd quickly explained to Garrison that she'd been called away at the last minute to organize the rescue of that fool who'd being parading around London like he owned the place and everyone in it, courtesy of his Ambassador father, and finally walked into a situation more than he could handle. Well, the East End never DID much appreciate that sort of an attitude, at least from an outsider.

Fortunately, (or perhaps UNfortunately, depending on your viewpoint), those holding him knew 'Miss Rue', wouldn't release him to anyone they didn't recognize, wouldn't trust anyone else to pay the going rate for idiots who'd ventured into doings they didn't have a clue about. 

She'd fumed at the necessity, but reluctantly agreed to the necessity. If she didn't, the Ambassador would probably get a tad stroppy, and then Kevin Richards would scold and . . . . Well, it was just better she got the young idiot back, preferably while he was still in one piece.

She apologized to the two men in her kitchen, explained the meal was all ready, just would need dishing up, wished them a good evening, reminding them to make the place secure before settling in.

"And don't expect me back til tomorrow. The bunch I'm dealing with, they know me, so they won't try a double-cross or anything like that. Still, they do like to draw out the negotiations, just for amusement, just to make you work for it. We'll have a drink, they'll make a demand, I'll counter with an offer. We'll mock each other's play, dish over past negotiations, then have another drink, and go around again. And again - and again! Mind you, I know how much they'll settle for, THEY know how much I'm willing to pay, but it's like the process is almost as important as the outcome. Reminds me of some of those damned meetings at HQ. Well, if I'm going through all this, spending the time in a smokey room drinking bad whiskey with those ne'r-do-wells and missing our lovely night here, I'll be having a few words with our 'Mister Ambassador's Son', and don't you doubt it! Oh, well!"

Then she dashed off. It was clear that by the time she got through with that young idiot, he just might have preferred NOT to be rescued.

"Well, that's the rotten luck," Goniff said in a disappointed tone watching that metal gate swing shut, Meghada remembering to twist the lock on her way through so no one could enter unbidden. He closed the kitchen door, engaging that heavy lock AND the security alarms as well, just out of habit, not really having needed her reminder. Privacy was a much-cherished aspect of the Cottage, and after an early incident, the security measures had been stepped up considerably.

Then he turned to Garrison, forced a brighter note to his voice, a resolutely-cheery smile to his face.

"Still, we can give that new record a listen. 'Gaida says it's a right treat! Then we can 'ave us a nice dinner, Craig; she's 'ad things simmering on the stove and in the oven, just waiting for you to get 'ere. Won't take much to get it together. Afters already laid out . . ." 

He stopped, getting a good look at the sheepish regret on Garrison's face, and his own face fell. "Oh. So, I guess it's 'No, we can't'? Something important come up?" 

Well, it so often did - things far more important than a quiet dinner at 'home', as they both tended to think of the Cottage anymore.

Meghada's 'important something' really was a matter of life and death - the ones holding the arrogant young man who'd thought he held diplomatic immunity against any misdeed or misbehavior on his part, even in the East End of London, they had seriously debated just dumping him in the river for his arrogance. That is, until someone figured he might be worth more alive than dead. Hence Meghada, having more experience in that part of town than most, and less likely to cause an actual riot like sending in the military police might do, headed up to pay the toll and drag him home by the scruff of his neck.

Well, that was one thing, and understandable enough, he supposed. 

Still, Goniff wondered what Garrison's 'important something' might be. He knew the officer's interpretation was usually on a much broader scale, taking into account what the military and politico's had in mind, some of it pretty inconsequential as far as the pickpocket could see, though he admitted his was a jaundiced point of view, especially when it interfered with some much-anticipated, all-too-infrequent together time.

"So," Garrison sighed heavily, running a frustrated hand through his hair, "I got a call. There's this gathering at Colonel Carmichael's house - Armstrong and Richards, several others will be there, a mixed crowd, and unfortunately, they're gathering presentable and acceptable, security-cleared officer-type bodies to take up the slack in the conversation. I just stopped by to tell you both I'd have to skip tonight."

The last thing he wanted to do was to drive to London and make smiley faces and small talk with that crowd; that wasn't at all how he'd planned - ANY of them had planned - for this rare opportunity of an evening together, the three of them, to go. 

Still, he WAS expected, that phone call - not exactly an invitation, more an announcement - hadn't been anticipating a rejection, that was for certain. In fact, his acceptance hadn't even been requested; once the details were ever so casually laid out, it was just a given that he would show up and do the pretty. It had happened before, would happen again most likely. Surely he didn't have a lot of choice in the matter; he HAD to go, do his duty. 

(He tried to ignore that niggling little voice that said he just MIGHT be taking too much for granted, and in not just one area.)

For his part, he'd been expecting some protest from Goniff. He wasn't looking forward to it, dreaded it, in fact. It would leave a bitter taste in both their mouths, certainly, and rehashing it over in his mind would make that drive to London even more dreary. 

And, now, he grimaced, it would be even worse than what he had been anticipating on the drive over. After all, this was the second disappointment of the day for Garrison's pickpocket, what with Meghada having to dash away like that, and now Garrison bailing on him. 

Instead of a warm, peaceful evening for the three of them, music, good food, good company and more, Goniff would be either spending the night here alone, or trudging back to the Mansion to fudge some excuse to the guys for coming back so much earlier than planned.

But there was no protest from Goniff at Garrison's reluctant explanation, only a slight pursing of his lips, a quick downward look to the side as the man gathered (or perhaps shielded) his thoughts. 

Then the blond Englishman looked up at Garrison and gave a quick forced smile of support and some warm encouragement. (Well, he strove in that direction, though luke-warm was as far as he was able to get. Still, Garrison had to give him major points for trying.)

"Well, imagine the major will need someone to keep 'im from being bored to death, and 'e can do the same for you. Best you go on then, Craig; there's not much time for you to get there, not with the way the roads are after that last bombing. Looks like I 'ave all that lovely dinner all to myself, and the music too, AND the w'ole tray of sponge cakes. Looks like my lucky day, ei? Not likely to be going to bed 'ungry tonight! Been times in my life woulda counted that as a glimpse of 'eaven itself!"

Somehow, that got to Garrison more than an outright protest would have, that unhesitating, deliberate putting aside of Goniff's hopes and plans for the evening to support whatever Garrison needed to do. 

For there to be no argument, just a wistful acceptance, from the one person who had more right than anyone else to be annoyed at the abandonment, that made Craig Garrison pause, think. Well, that and the sensation at the side of his head as if he'd received an overly-familiar and oh-so-solid thump from the palm of an invisible, non-corporeal hand.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard his old (late, dearly-departed) mentor, Professor Milford, chastising him for not seeing things clearly enough - something the old man had often done while he was still alive, and seemed to have no hesitation in continuing after his death. 

"You have to remember to LOOK, Craig, to SEE, to THINK!! See what is more important, what is less so in a situation - sort that out. Sometimes you have no choice, of course, but sometimes - sometimes you do. And when you do, THINK about your choices, make sure you are actually CHOOSING, deliberately, not just going with what seems easiest, most expedient, at the time. 

"'Act in haste, repent at leisure' is not just an outdated adage, you know. And from my own experience, some of that 'acting in haste' can be very expensive, that 'repenting at leisure' can be extremely long-lived and painful. Another saying you might take into consideration. It goes something like this - 'what profit it a man if he gains the world, but loses his own soul?' The war will be over in time; your duty done and over. What will you have left of that which you truly value if you do not guard the important things now?

"Think on it, Craig, decide what is truly important to you, and then decide - are you willing to risk losing what EVER, WHO ever is important to you because of a poor choice? Perhaps an accumulation of poor choices? Think, choose, and choose wisely."

Thinking of the social affair he'd been headed for, looking back at other such gatherings he'd been a part of, Garrison remembered times when someone hadn't shown up. 

Had that person been deemed so important in their absence? Had that really gotten any notice from the other attendees, other than a casual "thought so-and-so was going to be here? Well, guess something came up'? Had that person really been MISSED? Had it seemed like the whole evening had been a loss without that one person? No, not that he could recall. 

They wouldn't miss him, either - not like he would be missed if he weren't HERE. 

It took only another breath or two to realize that spending the evening with the others at that gathering was no more important to him than his presence would have been to them. 

{"What is really important? WHO is really important, Craig? Who and what are you willing to lose by making a bad choice?"}

Garrison hesitated, then, with a confident smile and firm resolve, tossed his hat into the basket where it typically rested when he was here in a personal capacity, not a professional one. This was one of those times when he HAD a choice, and he was all too aware he had been about to make the wrong one. {"Thank you, Professor Milford!"}

Removing his jacket, unbuttoning his collar and shirt cuffs, he walked over to stand in front of the hassock where Goniff was perched, the pickpocket watching Garrison's actions with a wary frown. Garrison reached out to trace the backs of his fingers across Goniff's cheekbone, then down along his jaw - a motion he'd seen Meghada make time after time, one he had himself recently discovered to be amazingly alluring. 

"Major Richards is going to have to amuse himself tonight, I think, Goniff. I have more important things to do, someplace more important to be than strutting around for the crowds. Someone more important to be with. Now, what did Meghada have planned for dinner? And what can I do to help get it ready? I'm starved!"

He let his eyes meet Goniff's, saw the change, that look going from shielded disappointment, to hope, then a softly-glowing contentment, a realization that Garrison wasn't going anywhere, not tonight. That for tonight, at least, Garrison had chosen to be HERE, to be with HIM, to share the warmth of the Cottage and all it had to offer.

Leaning in, Garrison let his hands grasp Goniff by the shoulders, pulling him up and close, bodies touching, lips smiling as they met briefly, softly. Then Goniff laughed eagerly and pulled back.

"You set the table, Craig, and dish up the soup. Might put on that new record first, though - 'Gaida says it's a right good one - some new torch singer. Not sold in the shops, private label so far, but she 'ad a listen when she met with 'er publisher. Just a kid, 'Gaida says, but 'as all the right stuff to make it to the top, if that's w'at she wants. I'll get the baking dish out of the oven - one of 'er conglomerations, don't know it 'as a name, but never 'ad anything of 'ers that didn't taste ruddy good. Sponge with cherry preserves and 'eavy cream for afters."

There was a knowledge, a promise in those blue eyes that made Garrison send up (and not for the first time) a prayer of thanks to Professor Milford, for his intervention, for his wisdom, his reminder about recognizing the important things - for his flat-out slap upside the head when he thought it necessary. 

{"Maybe, someday, I'll get to be just half as smart as the Professor. Maybe - if I don't shoot myself in the foot first!"} 

Then he set all such thoughts aside in favor of the evening, the company, and a celebration of the important things in life.

[And in the shadows, the misty figure of an old man in a shapeless suit, smoking that ever-present pipe, smiled and nodded. {"Craig was always a bright boy, if you could just get him to slow down and focus, make him really think."}. And the figure faded, off to do whatever he did when he wasn't keeping a kind eye on his favorite pupil.]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to M for the two pictures that inspired this story.


End file.
